


Ren Gets Help

by Pearly_Pornography



Series: Sad-urday [7]
Category: The Ren & Stimpy Show
Genre: Ableism, Borderline Personality Disorder, Canon Rewrite, Child Abuse, Internalized Homophobia, M/M, POV First Person, Psychologists & Psychiatrists, Slurs, Suicide Attempt, Underage Smoking
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-03
Updated: 2016-09-03
Packaged: 2018-08-12 03:10:32
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,081
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7918186
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Pearly_Pornography/pseuds/Pearly_Pornography
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A rewrite of the original's "Ren Needs Help!" and, more specifically, the Adult Party Cartoon's "Ren Seeks Help".</p>
            </blockquote>





	Ren Gets Help

**Author's Note:**

> because Ren's gotten a bad rep and I don't like it.

"So, what brings you to my office?"

"...Well, my friend Steempy said I should..." Ren muttered, then repeating it. "My, uh, my lover Steempy."

"Your lover?"

"Yes. He was worried about me."

"Why was he worried, Mr. Hoek?"

"Ah..." His legs crossed, one over the other. "...I attempted soo-ee-cide yesterday."

"You attempted suicide, you say?" Dr. Mr. Horse pursed his lips, writing something down on his clipboard. Ren nodded, solemnly, cupping his hands and lowering his head. "Why did you do that?"

"...I don't know."

"Well, Mr. Hoek, will you take me through your past? Perhaps we can find the cause for these emotions buried deep within your psyche."

"I, uh..." He sighed. "Alright."

-

 

Long ago it was dark. And stinky.

And then I was born. With a big, sloppy, disgusting sound. A hand smacked across my body. That was my first feeling of abuse. I laid in my mother's arms as she puffed smoke into my underdeveloped eyes. The pain was unbearable, I cried. My eyes were red and I wept until I was shoved into the car. A smoky, smelly, ugly car. I realized I'd be dealing with this for the rest of my life.

Every day was the same. Hours of neglect, until I began to smell like neglect. Occasionally I'd suck from my mother's teat -- my estimate is once per day, but sometimes she'd forget even more often. I grew weak, malnourished. With dry, patchy skin, and a tiny, skinny body.

I was harassed a lot at school. It was in the breeding of others to weed out the weak. I just wanted to be alone. But in my loneliness, I met Stimpy. Stimpy was born with brain damage, said his parents, and he too was ostracized. We grew close, though I knew I was above him. He was below a troglodyte, far below my intellect. I grew to resent his kindness just as much.

As I continued to grow older my life remained the same. Oftentimes my mother or father, if not both, would disappear for days at a time, leaving me by myself. On those days I would try their whiskey and cigarettes. When father would discover those things missing he'd slap me across the mouth.

Stimpy became both my worst trait, and my savior.

He was good and he was gentle. He stood with me through times of joy and agony, he was my weakness, my humiliation. He was an addiction, as bad as smoking, drinking, gambling, sex, self-harm, or binge-eating.

I was lonely, you know?

(To which Dr. Mr. Horse interjected the story, asking, "Were you in love with Stimpy back then?" Ren tentatively replied, looking away from the doctor, "Yes.")

Yes, I was in love with Stimpy back then. I still am. He was dense as a wall and didn't realize it. I didn't realize either, actually. So I continued with my humdrum life, beaten at least nine times per day. One time my father - Vincent Hoek is his name, doctor. He threw me down the stairs so my leg just... broke and collapsed. And Stimpy was the one who was my shoulder, my support. His family also resented him. His stupidity.

I became interested in boys when I was in middle school.

("Interested sexually?", the question arose. The response was a solemn nod from Ren.)

I was intrigued. Girls were boring, unbelievably so. With their thick lips and chests and hips. Skinny nymphets also didn't pique my interest. Boys came in more shapes and sizes, and they weren't scared to beat me down. They were unkind. They made me a lick short of a full-on masochist.

I didn't want Stimpy to protect me. One day, I smacked him across the face. I felt so bad, but he didn't even care. So I kept doing it. When I was stressed or scared I'd smack him. When I was happy or angry or sad or really anything I would. 

It was wrong and weird, but he didn't even care.

But for every kick and punch I endured I'd inflict it on Stimpy. From my bullies to my father. Poor mother, though-- Her name? Brenda Hoek. She had nobody to hurt, and my father was just as abusive towards her. Always grabbing her collar and slamming her against walls. It was my fault. Because I was born. She wanted to care for me, but dad wanted me to grow up. I was always her little baby boy.

I tried to kill myself in seventh grade. My father beat me so hard it made me wish I had succeeded. Stimpy held me. My mother was too scared to, my father hated me too much to. That was the day I told Stimpy I loved him, and he accepted me.

We were societal rejects. Nobody knew of our relationship, but homosexuality wasn't necessary for us to be ostracized. I lost my virginity to him in my freshman year. He was the pitcher. I was the catcher.

...I like to pretend I'm in control, but I'm really not, huh.

And my life just kept going and going, and I smoked and I drank and I cut and I cried. I wanted to be loved. I always wanted to be loved.

("But didn't Stimpy love you?")

I held him back. He wasn't smart, but he was good and kind. People loved him. I was toxic, bad-tempered. I was venomous. I was hated. Even if he loved me, I didn't feel loved. So I smacked him so hard last night... So hard that it actually hurt him.

-

"And now I am here."

"...Would you like my most humble opinion, Mr. Hoek?"

"Be gentle."

"Well, for one thing, I'm not actually a psychologist. I'm a podiatrist. It says so on the door." He sighed. "But you need to apologize and talk it out with your boyfriend."

"Talk eet out?"

"For his sake as much as yours. So you can be better than your father."

Ren stared at his cupped hands. "Mr. Hoek? I believe you can patch things up with him. But you need to come to terms with yourself before you can face him. Do you understand me? Can you do that?"

"...You're awfully eensightful for a foot doctor."

"I am here to help. Now, that'll be 10,000 dollars please."

"I'll call my insurance company."

Ren hopped out of the chair, shuffling out the office door. "Thank you." The door closed behind him.

"...That little dog worries me."


End file.
